


The Kings and the Prince of Umbar

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [52]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Cock Ring, Drama, Drugs, Love, M/M, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 09:20:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7752025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil has escaped from sexual slavery in Near Harad and is returning to Mirkwood with a bad-tempered Thorin.  Meanwhile, down in Umbar, his former owner, Prince Castor, plans to go after him, determined to have not one, but two kings in his power.</p><p>Yet another standalone Thorinduil story but you might like to read The Kings and the Slave Market first which describes Thranduil’s capture and escape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kings and the Prince of Umbar

 

.o00o.

 

The Kings and the Prince of Umbar

 

Pt I

 

Thorin and Thranduil lay side by side without touching, glowering at the ceiling.  The dwarf was in a filthy temper because they had been arguing violently  - and, to make things worse, he felt very guilty about it.  He should be treating the elven king with all possible kindness and thoughtfulness; he should be showing gentleness and understanding.  Instead of which, he had been yelling his head off and had been close to doing his one true love a nasty injury.  But, after all the stress and anxiety of the past few months, he was at breaking point.

 

They were in The Grey Havens, a town to which they had come for an important elven conference.  They had arrived 12 weeks ago and they were still there because Thranduil was recovering from being kidnapped and sold into slavery down in Umbar, the chief city of Near Harad, a place inhabited by cruel Corsair pirates and not the sort of area that you visited for a holiday.  Thorin had rescued the elf but he was still recovering from being drugged and abused, so they had not yet attempted the return journey to Erebor and Mirkwood.

 

The month-long sea voyage back from Umbar plus the two extra weeks of tender care once they had reached dry land, had put a strain on their relationship.  It wasn’t in the dwarven king’s nature to play the gentle, concerned nurse for so long and, besides which, he just couldn’t stop thinking about Castor, the Prince of Umbar, who had purchased Thranduil from the auction block for a vast sum of money.

 

Thranduil only had a hazy recollection of what had happened to him – or so he claimed – because he had been heavily sedated from the minute he had been kidnapped, but the lashes on his buttocks, the bites on his neck and shoulders, not to mention his badly bruised genitals were all plain to see and Thorin eventually found that he just _had_ to know.

 

The night had started off calmly enough.  They had climbed into bed; Thorin had held his lover in his arms for a bit and then – and he couldn’t help himself – he had said:

 

“What was this Prince Castor like, then?”

 

Thranduil had wrinkled his brow: “Umm – tall, black-haired, handsome – I think.”

 

Thorin could have done without the ‘handsome’.

 

“Was he attractive, then?”

 

“Don’t know,” said the elf a bit tartly.  “If you remember, I was drugged at the time.”  He had felt this moment building up for days and he had known – just known – that the dwarf would eventually challenge him over the prince and he felt very hurt.  After all he had been through!

 

They lay there in silence for a bit longer whilst Thorin fiddled with the elf’s cock abstractedly and with increased agitation.

 

“Ow!” said Thranduil finally.  “That hurts!”  And he pushed the dwarven king’s hand away from his still painful member.  Actually, it didn’t hurt that much any more, but all this fondling was conjuring up disturbing images.

 

Thorin rolled bad-temperedly onto his back.  “So, what did he do to you to leave you so tender for weeks on end?” he growled.

 

“Don’t remember,” snapped the elven king.

 

The dwarf raised himself on one elbow and glared down at his beautiful partner.   “I bet you do!” he said, his voice raising a notch.  “But you feel too guilty to tell me all about it, don’t you?”

 

“I don’t believe you!” gasped Thranduil incredulously.  “What on Middle-earth have I got to feel guilty about?”

 

Thorin threw himself back angrily on the pillow: “About the fact that you doubtless enjoyed being fucked by a handsome, wealthy prince!”  There, he had said it.

 

Thranduil had had enough.  Various unpleasant memories were surfacing and, if his partner really wanted to know, then he would tell him!

 

“Well, if you must have it, it was me who did most of the fucking!” he shouted.  “He was obsessed with the piercing and pearling on my cock and had me at it morning, noon and night for nearly a week!  I tried to unclip the barbell because it began to hurt so much, but he wouldn’t let me.  He especially liked to play with it – with his teeth!  And you’re surprised that I’m still in pain?”

 

“I knew it!” yelled Thorin.  “If you didn’t fancy him, how did you manage to get it up so frequently?  Did the pain arouse you?  I know your proclivities!”

 

“I got it up because I couldn’t get it down,” snarled the elf.  “He forced a cock ring onto my prick and around my balls and only released me when I had performed to his satisfaction.”

 

“And what about those lash marks?” continued Thorin, thumping the pillow so close to the elf’s face that he nearly hit him.  Thranduil’s words were creating painful images in his imagination.  “Is that how you got it up in the first place?  I know how you like a taste of the whip!”

 

“A taste!  A taste!” exclaimed the elven king in a fury.  “Do you know how long he flogged me for – for his satisfaction, not mine?  He had a whole collection of whips in every shape and size.  He especially liked the one with the metal tips.”  He was sitting up now, his chest heaving in anger and indignation.

 

Thorin sat up too and there they were, nose to nose.  “But what I don’t understand, what I really don’t understand,” he said softly, “is why you just didn’t break his neck.”  And he gave his beloved a triumphant look, as though he had just played a winning hand.

 

“Because,” said Thranduil very slowly, as if he were talking to an idiot, “because – I – was – _drugged_!”  Then he threw himself down on his pillow and closed his eyes.  Thorin threw himself down too. 

 

And that’s why they were both lying there, hours later, staring at the cracks in the ceiling in the grey morning light, consumed by their individual guilt and rage.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Down in Umbar, Prince Castor was still overcome by fury after discovering that his favourite slave had run away, no-one knew where.  He had beaten Thranduil’s guard to within an inch of his life and had then interrogated the man for hours but, all he could get out of him was that he thought a big dwarf had approached the elf moments before he was struck on the head, down on Umbar’s quay, where Castor had allowed his pet to attend the daily market.  There he was supposed to be buying a trinket for himself in compensation for the pain from the flogging he had received the previous night.  Dole out suffering and then pat them on the head: that was the way the prince controlled his favoured sexual slaves.

 

He was determined not to rest until he found him – and when he did, as he surely would, he would take great pleasure in flogging him once more and then fucking him until he couldn’t stand.  This slave was something special and certainly worth his time and effort: an elf, and one so exquisitely beautiful that Castor could come just by looking at him.  He would never find such a one again.

 

But, a dwarf!  That must be a clue since dwarves were hardly ever seen in the city.  Who was he and what was he doing in Umbar? And he sent out an army of spies to search near and far for news of the elf and the dwarf.  Some of these men hunted through the city for witnesses to the elf’s disappearance and information about the dwarf; others travelled on swift horses as far as Minas Tirith since rumour had it that the captain and his mate who had sold him the slave had travelled there.

 

After a few weeks, the spies, who had questioned a huge number in the city, returned with the information they had gathered.  The dwarf had apparently arrived the day before Thranduil’s disappearance and he had been seen all over Umbar, seemingly searching for something – or someone – although no-one knew for what or for whom because he had asked no questions.  He had been accompanied by a rough seaman, so it would appear that he had come on a ship.    And the only vessel that had docked on the day of his appearance was _The White Hart_ out of The Grey Havens.  It had set sail for the elven city the following day – the day on which Thranduil had disappeared.

 

So, that’s where he had gone!  But, before Castor set out in hot pursuit, he needed to find out more about the elf and the dwarf, not least about their strange friendship.  And so, he was pleased when, a couple of weeks later, the men from Minas Tirith returned and cast Tom and Matt, the captain of _The Sea Horse_ , and his mate, upon the ground before him.

 

They grovelled in fear, wondering what they had done to offend the prince.  Had the elf not been to his liking, they asked?

 

Yes, very much to his liking, was the response, but he had escaped a month ago and now he wanted every scrap of information about him – and the dwarf who might have organised his escape.  The pair relaxed a little.  They could help him there.

 

The dwarf’s name was Thorin and they had met the two of them when they had shared a supper table with them one night at _The Mithril Crown_ in The Grey Havens.  Apparently, they were partners and they seemed very wealthy.  It had slowly occurred to the two seamen over the course of the evening that, if they kidnapped both of these strikingly good-looking men, they would make an enormous amount of money in the slave markets.

 

“Good-looking?” exclaimed Castor.  “You mean the dwarf too?”

 

“Yes.  Tall for a dwarf; muscular, extraordinarily handsome.  Never seen anything like it.”

 

The prince gave a snort of disbelief.

 

“We invited them onto our ship the following day, but only the elf turned up.  And so we made away with just him.  A shame really.  The two of them, if they had been sold together, would have given someone like you, my lord, a lot of fun.”  And they gave him a sly look.

 

“And you have no idea who these two are or if they are from The Grey Havens or elsewhere?”

 

“No, my lord,” they replied, grovelling again.  “There were many elves from all over Middle-earth in the town at the time for a big meeting.”

 

Much to their relief, he dismissed them with a wave of his hand and they scuttled off back to Minas Tirith, there to spend their ill-gotten gains.  They lasted 6 months before being killed in a drunken bar-room brawl.

 

Castor, meanwhile, sat back in his chair and thought.  Who were these two?  He was totally uninterested in the politics of Middle-earth, especially the goings-on outside of Near Harad.  And yet, those two names rang a bell.  And then he had it!  Thranduil of Mirkwood  and Thorin of Erebor!  Unbelievable.  And hadn’t those two got married, or something outlandish like that?  No wonder the dwarf had come after him. 

 

A salacious smile spread across his handsome face: he had been fucking a king all that week when Thranduil  had been within his power.  No wonder it had been a quality experience.  And he laughed out loud.   And did this discovery deter him from going after his slave?  No, he was even more determined to do so.  And if it all ended with a brace of kings in his bed, then so much the better.  And his loins quivered in anticipation at the thought of that possibility.

 

So, where were they?  It had been a month since Thranduil had escaped and so they should be arriving, just about now, back in The Grey Havens.  Then they would rest for a while before going on the long journey home.  And the fools had travelled on their own!  If they had been accompanied by guards or any kind of entourage, then where were they when Thorin had come to Umbar?  They didn’t exist and that’s why Thorin’s only help had come from a rough seaman.  Presumably, they would travel back to Mirkwood and Erebor on their own once more and, on that lonely journey, that’s when he would cut across their path with a band of his finest men.  He, himself, had been trained as a warrior but he had been idle for too long: he was looking forward to going on an adventure – with a supreme prize at the end of it.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Over the next couple of days, as horses and supplies were prepared for the journey, Castor studied his maps.  Assuming that the two kings would set out in a week or so, travelling via Bree and over the Misty Mountains towards Mirkwood, he plotted his own course, with the intention of intercepting them at a suitable spot.  He decided to hire a Corsair captain with a ship large enough to take the horses and with galley slaves whose efforts would help them to move faster.  They would sail a short distance north until they reached the mouth of the great River Anduin and then they would row upstream, past Minas Tirith and Rohan, until they crossed the road between the Misty Mountains and Mirkwood, and there they would disembark.  His scouts would then travel up and down the road, questioning those who might have seen the kings.  He would find them, he was sure of it.

 

A lot of trouble for a single slave?  Castor thought not.  Thranduil was a pearl beyond price; he could not be replaced.  And, besides, he hated to be thwarted and he would have his revenge.  And, over the next days and weeks, as he sailed towards his goal, he considered ways of making the elf pay, including torturing his dwarven partner in front of him.  Now, that _would_ be entertaining.

 

.o00o.

 

The day after their big row, Thorin and Thranduil set out for home: it did neither of them any good, shut up together and just glaring at each other.  It was better to get out on the road and let the exigencies of the journey help dissipate their bad tempers.  And, because of Thranduil’s injuries and sensitivities about his enslavement, there had been no love-making since his rescue: perhaps fresh air, a warm sun and a bed under the stars would help.

 

The first day out, it rained and they rode in silence, retiring, wet and grumpy, to their separate bedrolls that night.  But, on the second day, the sun came out, the birds sang and they chatted and laughed together as they made their way through dappled, shady groves.  When night fell, however, they still made up separate beds, uncertain as to whether or not the other was of a mind to share their sleeping arrangements.

 

But, after 10 minutes, Thorin decided that they were both being silly and so he slipped under Thranduil’s blanket and took him in his arms.  The elf sighed and snuggled into him.  The dwarven king kissed him tentatively and was relieved when his lover kissed him back.  He ran his large hand down the elf’s back and, squeezing one of his buttocks, he pulled him to his crotch so that he could feel his engorged erection.  It had been a long time.  Thranduil gave a sensuous wriggle and Thorin could feel that the elven king’s cock was swollen too.  Thank Mahal for that!  He had been worried that Castor had done some lasting damage to it, both through the physical but also through the psychological injuries that he had dished out whilst he had had Thranduil in his power. 

 

Then he ran a foot over his partner’s leg in a gentle caress and, in doing so, he felt the pretty gold chain that was locked about his ankle.  He hooked a toe through it and, giving it a tug, asked idly: “Did you buy this down in the Umbar market?”  He had rescued his lover from the market on the quay there, where Castor had allowed him to browse for trinkets.  So, in the dwarf’s mind, this was where the chain was from.  He had wondered vaguely why the elf still wore it but, he supposed, it actually looked quite attractive as it slid provocatively about his beautiful ankle when he walked.

 

Thranduil wasn’t interested in discussing the chain: all he wanted was a good fuck with the dwarf, the first in many months.  Why had they waited so long?  And, pushing Thorin over on his back, he said, without giving due consideration to his words: “It’s a slave chain.  Castor put it on me.”

 

Thorin froze.  Then, he flung his lover from him so that the elf sprawled on the grass.

 

“What is _wrong_ with you?” he shouted.  “You were enslaved, flogged and subjected to all sorts of obscenities by this man – and yet you still wear a chain that he placed on you!  Are you so obsessed with him?”  And he rolled towards Thranduil and tore the chain from his ankle so violently that it bit into his flesh and made it bleed.

 

“What’s wrong with me?” cried the elven king.  “By Eru, if you had any love or understanding then you wouldn’t need to ask!”  And he snatched the blanket from Thorin’s bed and wrapped it around his naked form.  Thorin leapt to his feet angrily and they stood there glowering at each other.   Then Thranduil’s lip trembled and a tear ran down his cheek.  He turned away from the dwarf and sat down under a tree, his knees drawn up and his forehead leaning against them in despair.

 

Thorin stood there staring at him for a long time.  No, he didn’t understand.  The whole business upset and bewildered him, but, perhaps he should try harder.  He picked up Thranduil’s blanket and wrapped it around himself – it smelled of him and he felt a clenching in his belly.  Then he sat down quietly next to his lover, leaning back against the bole of the tree.

 

“Take me through this,” he said.  “Help me to feel what you are feeling.”

 

After a pause, the elf began speaking in dull tones.  “I remembered very little at first,” he murmured, “but, by the time our ship reached The Grey Havens, bits and pieces were beginning to come back.  The worst thing was the absolute feeling of helplessness my enslavement gave me, of wanting to stop what was happening – even knowing that I could stop it if I wished – and yet not being able to defend myself in any way because of the drug that they kept tipping down my throat.  I wanted to kill him and yet the will to do so was completely drained from me.  Instead, I tried to please him, to obey him in everything, and whatever he told me to do, I did, and whatever he wished to do to me, I succumbed to quite willingly – and yet totally unwillingly at the same time.  I thought my head would explode as I struggled with such opposing emotions and thoughts.”

 

Thorin reached out and clasped his cold hand.

 

“I fought it, I really did.  And when he sensed that struggle, that’s when he brought out his whips and flogged me, determined to break me by whatever means.  And when I refused to cry out, then – the most horrible thing – he took me in his arms and caressed me and told me how much he loved me.  He sent me to the harbour to buy myself trinkets.  And, do you know, his treatment of me nearly worked?  I was proud of that chain around my ankle – that I belonged to him – and, when you first approached me in the market, I was looking for something lovely to buy, not for myself but for him –to show how much I loved him.”

 

The tears were falling freely now.

 

Thorin was struggling so hard to understand what Thranduil was saying, but all these revelations about the elf’s perverted love for his master cut very deep.

 

“And, when you took me away on that ship, I wasn’t grateful or relieved – because I didn’t see it as a rescue.  Instead, you were wrenching me away from the person I loved most in the world.  I was angry with you and if there had been a chance to escape and return to Umbar, I would have taken it.”  Thorin’s heart was at breaking point.   “In the end, I realised that the person I loved most in the world was not Castor but you…….and yet I still clung on to the shreds of what remained of my slavery – and that chain was the most powerful symbol.  It seemed to be holding me together and I feared that, if I took it off, my whole world would crumble.”

 

There was a long moment.  Finally: “Do you understand?” he asked in trembling tones.

 

Thorin turned slowly towards his lover and, with a comforting gesture, pulled his head gently down upon his shoulder.  They sat like that for a while, then it was time for the dwarven king to have his say.  “No, I still don’t understand.”  At this, the elf looked up miserably.  “But how could anyone understand what you have been through?  They would be lying if they said so.  And all I can do is weep along with you when you weep and hold you and love you.”  At this, he pulled the elven king closer still and kissed him.

 

Thranduil sighed.  That was enough for the moment.  “Let’s go back to bed,” he said.  “We have a long day ahead tomorrow.”

 

.o00o.

 

Over the next weeks, they travelled through Hobbiton, where they spent a night with Bilbo, and then they moved on to Rivendell and The Last Homely House.  It was good to meet up with Elrond again and he was shocked to hear what had happened to Thranduil.  The elves treated his lash marks with special salves and the elf lord hoped that his skin would heal completely. 

 

He took Thorin to one side.  “You do understand that Thranduil will take some time to get over this, don’t you?  He will need a lot of love.”

 

“I have only just begun to realise that,” said Thorin guiltily.  “I’m afraid I let him down at first.”

 

“You could never let him down,” replied Elrond, grasping the dwarf reassuringly by the shoulder.

 

.o00o.

 

From Rivendell, they crossed The Misty Mountains with no trouble and then they travelled steadily eastwards towards the Anduin and Mirkwood.  Nearly there, they thought.

 

But, Castor had planned his route well.  He and his men had left the Corsair ship at anchor in the river just as the two kings were coming down from the mountains, and now they were searching for them.  Since The Battle of the Five Armies, after which the orcs had been cleared from the area and the giant spiders driven from Mirkwood, more travellers dared to travel on the roads, and the prince met enough coming from the east to ascertain that the kings had not as yet passed through.  So, all he had to do was wait.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

It had been a hot, oppressive day.  The thunder rumbled down from the mountains behind them and there was the odd flash of lightning.  Thorin and Thranduil were glad when they found a suitable camping site in a grove of trees, close to a small stream that eventually fed into the Anduin.  The dwarf strode off with his bow to hunt small game for supper whilst the elf stripped off his shirt in the suffocating heat and set about preparing a fire to cook whatever Thorin brought back with him, gathering twigs and chopping up small logs.  He finally set his axe aside and knelt by the stream, bathing his face and chest.

 

Then he heard a twig crack and he turned around, expecting to see Thorin emerging from among the trees.  Instead, shockingly, on the far side of the clearing, there stood a semicircle of men, all with bows drawn, their nocked arrows pointing straight at his heart, whilst a grinning Castor with sword drawn, was positioned to their fore.  Thranduil’s axe and sword were lying out of reach but he was determined to go down fighting and he crouched, snarling, ready to take on all comers.  They wanted him alive, didn’t they?  That gave him a chance.

 

Castor raised an eyebrow in mocking admiration.  He had wondered what Thranduil would be like in an undrugged state and now he knew: he was totally magnificent, his body taut, his muscles rippling, his whole being poised to strike, graceful and agile, like some great beast.

 

“I do think,” drawled Castor, “that a weaponless elf stands no chance against a dozen archers.”

 

“Ah,” sneered the elven king in return, “but I am assuming that you want this elf alive and will hesitate to use those bows.”

 

“Then, if you are not persuaded….” continued the prince unperturbed.  And he nodded to half of his men who turned to face the woodland track down which Thorin had disappeared earlier.  “I am sure that it would be very distressing for you to see your lover shot full of arrows right in front of you.”

 

A look of defeat passed over Thranduil’s face.   He was reckless of his own life but not of Thorin’s.  “How do I know,” he asked softly, “that if I surrender myself to you, you will spare my partner’s life?”

 

“Because,” said Castor, looking him straight in the eye. “I am a prince and I keep my word.  I promise not to kill him.”

 

Thranduil sighed and stood up straight: he had no alternative but to believe him.  Now he must play for time.

 

Castor nodded once more to his men, a look of triumph on his face, and two of them grasped Thranduil by the arms whilst another circled around behind him and held him firmly by the hair.

 

The prince stood close.  “Ah, Thranduil, Thranduil,” he said silkily, putting a finger under his chin. “Did you think I would not come after you?”  And he ran the finger down the long, white neck and then let it circle the tattooed nipple.

 

“No,” said the elven king through gritted teeth.  “I had no idea that you valued me so highly.”

 

“You underestimate yourself,” crooned Castor and he ran his hand down to Thranduil’s waistband where he dug deep inside his breeches.  “Who would willingly go without this,” he whispered as his thumb worked its way up and down the pearling and tugged at the barbell on the pierced tip.

 

Thranduil spat in his face.

 

His tormentor wiped the spittle slowly away with a grimace.  “Sadly,” he murmured, “I shall have to control you.”  And then the guard holding the hair gave it a sharp yank, pulling up the elf’s chin, whilst another guard handed Castor a small, uncorked bottle.  He tipped the contents skilfully down Thranduil’s throat and then patted his cheek.  “All better soon,” he said.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin came cheerfully through the woods, carrying a couple of dead rabbits.  He and Thranduil had been working on their relationship for weeks now and it was nearly as good as it had always been. 

 

He ambled into the clearing, confident that the elf would be pleased with his hunting success.  Then he stood stock still in horror.  Facing him and sitting with his back to a tree was a handsome, black-haired stranger.  And sitting between the man’s spread thighs, shirtless, lolling back with his head resting upon his shoulder, was Thranduil!  This just had to be Castor.   The prince gazed arrogantly up at the dwarf, deliberately caressing the elf’s chest and letting his hand drift down to the elven king’s crotch where he slowly unbuttoned his breeches.  “Kiss me,” he murmured.  And Thranduil lifted his lips blindly to those of his master.

 

A red curtain came down in front of Thorin’s eyes.  He dropped the rabbits, lowered his head and charged like a bull.  Of course, he fell into the ambush prepared for him.  Men jumped out from all sides as he passed: one tripped him, then brought a heavy club down upon one of his legs whilst another smashed him over the head.  The lights went out immediately.

 

.o00o.

 

Thranduil struggled to lift himself above his drugged fog.  “You said you wouldn’t hurt him,” he slurred.

 

“No,” Castor corrected him.  “I said I wouldn’t kill him and I haven’t.”  The elf slumped back on the prince’s shoulder again with a moan.  “There, there,” murmured his captor tenderly, kissing him.  “Have no fear. We shall all have fun together.”

 

He stared at the dwarf as he lay on the ground.  The captain of _The Sea Horse_ had been right: in his own way, Thorin was as beautiful as Thranduil.  Remarkable!  Yes, they would definitely have fun together and he felt himself grow hard.  His men had probably broken his leg but, the Corsair ship was anchored only a short distance away.  They would carry him there and, soon, they would all be on their way back to Umbar.

 

Thorin regained consciousness in response to the shocking pain in his leg.  He moaned in agony and wondered what was causing it until he remembered that he had been attacked.  How stupid he had been!  He was lying with his face in the dirt and it took him some seconds to realise that one of the reasons why his damaged leg hurt so much was because someone was lying on his back and was fucking him hard without any regard for his injury.

 

He opened his eyes and saw that the men who had ambushed him were sitting around watching with lewd grins on their faces and, if he turned his head a little, he could see Thranduil, slumped against the tree, but struggling dazedly to regain some control as the horrible scene was played out before him.  Thorin felt a deep shame.

 

Castor grunted and thrust as his men shouted ribald encouragement and he finally came, biting down hard on the dwarven king’s shoulder.  “Ah, yes,” he whispered, gasping into Thorin’s ear, “I shall have you again once we get on board my ship.  I came for Thranduil but you are a prize of equal worth.”

 

With a roar, Thorin summoned up all his strength and threw the prince from his back.  The pain from his leg was so excruciating that he nearly passed out but his captor rolled laughingly onto his side next to him and, seizing him by his plaits, pulled him into a cruel kiss.   Then he rose to his feet and, buttoning his breeches, looked towards the elven king to see how the whole performance had affected him.  There was anguish in Thranduil’s eyes.  Good, that would teach him not to run away.  He would enjoy beating him tonight just to underline things.

 

But, suddenly, as he strolled towards the elf, thinking of how else he could torment him, a very, VERY big man, dressed roughly and with long, wild hair, walked into the clearing.  Everyone turned to gawp.

 

“I’ve come for the elf and the dwarf,” he growled in an extremely deep voice.

 

Castor let out an explosive laugh of disbelief.  This strange creature might be unusually large but he carried no weapon and he was only one against many.  His men were already rising to their feet and drawing their swords.

 

“Do you hand them over freely or do I take them from you?” the man threatened.

 

Castor was curious.  “Why do you wish to help them?  What are they to you?”

 

The giant snarled.  “I dislike dwarves,” he said, “but I hate the Corsairs.  These are my lands and you have invaded them.  I would advise you to return to your ship and go back to Umbar.”

 

The men laughed and two of them raised their bows in readiness.

 

“Do I take that as a ‘no’, then?” asked the man, raising a bushy eyebrow.

 

Castor didn’t answer, simply unsheathing his sword and advancing upon him.  But, then a terrifying and fantastical thing happened and they all stopped in their tracks.  The man mountain began to shimmer and a frightening transformation took place before their very eyes: he shape-shifted into a huge, shaggy and vicious bear who immediately swept amongst them, his great arms scything down everything that stood in his path.  Soon, some lay dead, others were seriously injured whilst yet more had decided that the better part of valour was to run away, back to the ship.  Castor was one of these last.  He valued his life far too much to stand his ground and fight in a useless show of heroism.  The dwarf and the elf suddenly didn’t seem worth it.

 

But, he mounted a hillock, some distance away, and yelled: “You’ll have to watch your backs from now on, you two.  I shall never give up!”  And then he was gone.

 

Thranduil, desperately trying to throw off his drugged state, crawled to the prostrate dwarf who still lay, semi-conscious, on the ground.  He touched him gently.

 

“What happened?” asked Thorin in confusion.

 

“Beorn happened,” laughed the elf shakily.

 

The skin-changer slowly shrank back into his human form.  Then he bent and gently scooped up Thorin from the ground.

 

“Bring the horses,” he growled and Thranduil fetched the horses and followed obediently.

 

They walked long into the twilight of that summer evening and when Thorin sometimes partly regained consciousness, he thought he was back at The Battle of the Five Armies when Beorn had lifted his badly injured body and brought him safely from the battle field.  He had felt protected from danger in those powerful arms.  At last, they came to a hut, one of many scattered refuges that Beorn used as he roamed the countryside.

 

After the dwarven king had been settled carefully on the moss and heather bed and a rough splint had been made for his leg, Beorn said: “Rest now.  Tomorrow, we shall go to my home and there I shall see to your leg properly and you can both recover.”  And then he disappeared out into the night but they heard him snarling as he prowled around, guarding his territory.

 

Thranduil curled up on the floor by the side of the low bed and lay his head upon Thorin’s breast.  “I’m feeling more myself,” he said.  And then he wept and asked the dwarven king to forgive him.

 

“Forgive you for what?” asked Thorin, gently stroking his silken hair.

 

“For letting you down.  For succumbing to that drug.  For the broken leg.  For – for – what Castor did to you.”

 

“None of those things were your fault,” replied Thorin softly.  “It is that creature, Castor, who is responsible for all our woes.  Now kiss me,” he added tenderly, “and, if there must be forgiveness, then let us forgive each other.”

 

The kiss was very long and full of love.  The dwarven king sighed.  “See how hard I am,” he said, lifting the blanket.  “We seem to spend half our lives not making love - when we really want to - for one reason or another.  We must make a promise to each other, that, once this leg is set, we shall never waste time again.”

 

Thranduil slipped a tentative hand beneath the blanket and grasped Thorin’s prick.  “Shall I?” he asked. 

 

“No,” said the dwarf with a wry smile.  “Everything hurts too much.  But I shall dream about it.”  And he pulled his lover down upon his great chest and the two of them tried very, very hard to go to sleep.

 

.o00o.

 

**Well, that wraps up that story – at least for the moment.  I wonder if Castor has given up or not?  That might have been an empty threat as he was chased away by Beorn, but, he is the type to get obsessed about things if he is thwarted, like many rich, powerful men.  I hope you enjoyed the way that the two kings dealt with Thranduil’s slavery and thought their reactions were realistic.  But, they always get there in the end, don’t they, and show a bit of character growth?**

**Don’t forget, if you are new to my Thorinduil stories, I have written more than 50 so far.  They started almost as a joke, just to see if I could write M/M fanfic; but I think my stories have developed, the more I have written, just like the characters of my two heroes.  Although each episode can be read separately, they do, actually, follow an arc and perhaps should be read in the correct order.  The first story in the series is _King of the Antlered Throne_.**

**My thanks to everyone who has read the lot: what stamina!  And my especial thanks to those who have dropped off kudos or who have paused to comment and discuss what I have written.  That makes me feel like a real author, LOL, and keeps me going!  And those truly lovely performances by Richard Armitage and Lee Pace in _The Hobbit_ films are what started the ball rolling for me in the first place: so, an even bigger thanks to two brilliant actors!**

 

 

 

 

 


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